


think im losing my mind

by TheGodWith5Yen



Series: Building the Universe [6]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Masturbation, Pre-Relationship, i dont ship this but i wanted to tell the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 12:21:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14112222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGodWith5Yen/pseuds/TheGodWith5Yen
Summary: 2005. Harleen Quinzel can't stop thinking about her most intriguing patient.





	think im losing my mind

**Author's Note:**

> wow do I not ship it, I hate the joker sm, he is abusive and just horrible, but this is so important for Harley's story. I do intend to write more for her in this series, so I felt this had to be told. 
> 
> title from Out Of It by Mothica

    **_June 1, 2005_ **

Show tunes softly sang from the television, soothing along with the orange light from the early sun rising. Harleen hummed along as she poured coffee into the pot, her second one this morning. She had woken up early, plagued by dreams, nightmares, oddness, something that tugged at her, smiling faces, face, inviting and bright and-

Harleen shook her head and ran her hand through her hair. It’s been happening for a while now, and each time she remembered them she physically shook herself as though that could make it all go away.

“Stop getting so caught up, Harl.” She muttered to herself as she walked back to her couch where her papers lay. “It’s only work. Just work. Finish a year or two at Arkham, find what makes them go tick, tick, tick, and people will come scrambling your way.”

The couch was an old thing she had stolen from her college roommate (though she claimed she had no recollection of what happened to the damn thing Linda, maybe you just lost track of it with the movers, I don’t know what to tell you Linda, well, bye). It had a hideous pattern of pink and blue flowers, something straight out of a grandmother's home, but Harleen was quite fond of it, and liked the softness of the flowers, a different fabric than the plain beige parts of it all. She would rub her feet against it while reading.

She gathered up her files in her lap, reading through the papers she last looked at before she went to make more coffee. Mayo, Mitchell. He was having some good progress, though he still refused to take meds. His attempts at stealing all condiments from the eating area was decreasing. That was good. Mayo wasn’t her hardest patient- far from it- but he was definitely _something_. Good thing Batgirl had scooped him out of the mall before he got himself hurt during his condiment craze. That would have definitely not been a pretty picture for anyone.

Harleen’s worst was, well, the man with the growing taboo surrounding his name. The Joker. She could remember when he first popped up in Gotham, just a joke, something unworthy of being taken seriously. Because, yeah, Gotham was a hell hole, has been for years, but, really? A clown, like that could do anything. Since then, Joker had proven himself to be a real threat against the city. Jokes, bombs, a real showman unlike Penguin or Poison Ivy, it was actually exciting to see what he could come up with next to woo the whole entire city.

Joker was entirely unlike anything, anyone, Harleen had ever seen before.

Everything about him, his case, was intriguing.

Humming under her breath, a fun little tune that rise and fell and had impossibly long notes, Harleen’s fingers traced the silhouette of  the Arkham patient. His green green hair that curled behind his pale white ears, his ever smiling face (oh wouldn’t it be nice to smile so cheerfully all day like that, to be happy), his dark piercing eyes.

With a sudden sharp movement, she pulled her hand back as though she had been shocked and vigorously shook her head. No no no no no no no no no no! Do not get pulled in. Don’t get pulled in.

Why would she even? He’s a patient, he needs to learn how to control the homicidal part of him, be the man he once was, whoever that was, because in all these years no one was able to learn his identity, his name that he had shed away. He was thoroughly the Joker. Could Harleen even do anything? Somedays it felt like a lost cause. Somedays it felt like an awakening.

“It’s the lack of sleep. That’s it,” Harleen moaned to herself. That’s what it was. Maybe she should pick up some sleeping pills on her way home after work. The dream catchers she had bought and hung over her room were clearly not working, maybe because she was white as white come, and the catcher knew that and refused to help her. She carefully placed all her folders into her messenger bag.

As she went to change the channel on the television, she blinked in surprise. It wasn’t on. She could have sworn she heard the music coming from it. Maybe it was from outside or from one her neighbors, the walls were thin, yeah, yeah that has to be it. Harleen breathed out her nose. “Calm down. You make a big ol’ fuss about everything. It doesn’t matter. It’s nothing.”

For the rest of the morning, Harleen lounged, drinking her hot coffee and watching the local news. A lot about Batman, Bruce Wayne, something about a possible Poison Ivy attack at a company that had been participating in deforestation.

“You go girl,” Harleen laughed when they showed what the woman had done. Maybe she wasn’t allowed to say this, but it wasn’t like Poison Ivy was wrong. People like that deserve what comes to them, that was just plain fact.

Some people just deserved to get hurt.

Harleen set her mug on her coffee table.

She dressed for work, a polka dot blouse and gray trousers. She stared in the mirror for a bit, opting to tie her hair up in a bun, not minding when a lock or two fell free to frame her face. She applied some bright red lipstick, a new shade she couldn’t resist because it was the same as someone who smiled so eternally. She blinked, eyes on her lips in the mirror, before letting out a breath and letting it be. She grabbed her bag, and left.

Arkham Asylum was as stereotypical as an asylum could come. The minute she walked inside, it was as though both the eyes of the living and the dead were watching her, the temperature dropped a few degrees somehow, and screams and laughter and chants could be heard throughout the whole building. Harleen paid no mind to the latter, humming a soft tune under her breath as she walked along the hallway to her office. Though, it wasn’t much of an office except for a bare room with a single table.

She was about to walk inside when a hand pressed against her back.

“Miss Quinzel?”

Harleen turned, a tight smile on her lips. Hugo Strange kept his hand on her back, smiling that small smile of his. “Doctor, Strange, I am Doctor Quinzel.”

“Ah, yes,” the man waved his hand as though it had not mattered. “Come, say hello to Mr. Wayne.”

Harleen glanced behind the man's shoulder to see the legend himself, billionaire playboy philanthropist Bruce Wayne. He was quite handsome, dark skinned like the pictures don’t want you to know and black hair slicked back. He smiled kindly and held out his hand.

“Doctor Quinzel, it’s a pleasure. I hoped I would get the opportunity to meet the woman herself who is working so hard to help, well what’s the politically correct way to say it? Help mentally ill citizens back on track, I suppose. Especially someone like Joker, you must be having a time with him.” Wayne had a firm grip and a smile that was too bland for Harleen’s taste.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Wayne. You truly get to the point, huh? I’m glad I was on your list to meet, I’m sure not many can say they actually are. It has been quite the time here at Arkham, so many interesting people and cases, Joker especially. He is very intriguing, trying to break down who he is, how he is. Unfortunately, I cannot disclose any information, no matter how much you donate. Now, I must, uhh, get to work. Goodbye Mr. Wayne, Strange.” Harleen closed the door before any objections could be made. She could still hear the loud laughter of Wayne from behind the door.

Harleen pressed her hands over hr eyes, breathed out.

Patients came and went. Screamed. Rocked in place. Refused to talk. Cried. Asked for just a bit of ketchup, please, just for the plain hot dogs, can’t they let him at least eat with the others. Finally, he was coming up, her last of the day. That wasn’t why she was so excited to her bones though. It was him, the ever so interesting Joker.

The guards brought him in, shackled as always, smiling as always.

“Ah ah ah! My favorite time! Here she is! Hello, hello! Let’s discuss, ow, watch it there buddy,” Joker’s white face didn’t lose the smile as he stared down the guard who must have squeezed too tight as he chained him to the floor. “Let us discuss you this time, huh? What do you think, tutz?”

“I think,” Harleen leaned forward, “that you are much more interesting than me. So let’s get to talking. So, Mister- oh, I never caught your name have I?”

“Call me Mister J if you must. But darling, I prefer my given name of Joker. Joker, The. Hahaha. You have a beautiful name. Doctor Harleen Quinzel,” Joker sounded out, each syllable sounding new and wonderful to Harleen’s ears. Her whispered it again, over and over. “Something just isn’t quite right. Too- too formal.” The man waved his hand around. “Oh! I know! Harley Quinn. Much softer, just as lovely, a little sweet with a hint of tang. Which I am positive you are, Doctor.”

Harleen cleared her throat. “Joker. Let’s talk about you and why you’re here.”

An hour later, Harleen returned home. Immediately, she threw her bag towards the sofa. Once again Joker had told her nothing. Nothing at all to help. Though he had given her one thing.

Harley Quinn.

She could just hear his voice, made of silk and pure laughter, saying it outloud with care like the gift it was. It made her stomach tingle and her toes curl.

Harley Quinn.

God, she loved it, she loved him, she had never felt this way before. Her mind always traveled to him. When she was near him, it made her excited, even though she could never show it. It was wrong, bad, horrible, to feel so much for someone she had to watch over. For someone who hurt so many for fun.

Fun.

She wanted to have fun like that. Not a care in the world.

His lifestyle was so enchanting.

Fun.

Harley Quinn.

Harleen groaned, collapsed on her bed. With his sweet, rich voice whispering in her ears, she reached down between her legs and pressed hard against herself, fingering inside herself and pressing at her sensitive clit.

Harley Quinn.

She never wanted to hear Harleen Quinzel again, it could never compare to the beauty of Harley Quinn, the beauty and genius of the Joker. Humming lightly, Harley fell asleep with Joker’s voice ringing in her ears, his red red smiles, his pale white skin, his wonderful green hair, all in her mind's eye, ignoring the wet come slick on her thighs, just so she could have more time of him. This was different than every other day she came home, riled up, he had told her that he cared back. It was all through a name, a gift, a smile.

Harley Quinn.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope this was good! Couldn't resist a Bruce Wayne cameo and a mention of Ivy! Can't wait to write her and Harley together! To cleanse me of this! I have other fics in the works, hopefully I finish my Jayroy fic soon.... it's begging to be made... I need that sweetness of them.
> 
> I feel like theres a shift of where I picked up writing after too long so the momentum is off??? I apologize for that I got sidetracked with other WIPs


End file.
